The Hall of the Hôtel de Bourgogne in 1640. A sort of Tennis Court, arranged and decorated for Theatrical productions.
The Hall is a long rectangle; we see it diagonally, in such a way that one side of it forms the back scene, which begins at the First Entrance on the Right and runs up to the Last Entrance on the Left, where it makes a right angle with the Stage which is seen obliquely.
This Stage is provided on either hand with benches placed along the wings. The curtain is formed by two lengths of Tapestry which can be drawn apart. Above a Harlequin cloak, the Royal Arms. Broad steps lead from the Stage down to the floor of the Hall. On either side of these steps, a place for the Musicians. A row of candles serving as footlights. Two tiers of Galleries along the side of the Hall; the upper one divided into boxes.
There are no seats upon the Floor, which is the actual stage of our theatre; but toward the back of the Hall, on the right, a few benches are arranged; and underneath a stairway on the extreme right, which leads up to the galleries, and of which only the lower portion is visible, there is a sort of Sideboard, decorated with little tapers, vases of flowers, bottles and glasses, plates of cake, et cetera.
Farther along, toward the centre of our stage is the Entrance to the Hall; a great double door which opens only slightly to admit the Audience. On one of the panels of this door, as also in other places about the Hall, and in particular just over the Sideboard, are Playbills in red, upon which we may read the title La Clorise.
As the Curtain Rises, the Hall is dimly lighted and still empty. The Chandeliers are lowered to the floor, in the middle of the Hall, ready for lighting.
(Sound of voices outside the door. Then a Cavalier enters abruptly.)
The Porter
(Follows him)
Halloa there!—Fifteen sols!
The Cavalier
I enter free.
The Porter
Why?
The Cavalier
Soldier of the Household of the King!
The Porter
(Turns to another Cavalier who has just entered)
You?
Second Cavalier
I pay nothing.
The Porter
Why not?
Second Cavalier
Musketeer!
First Cavalier
(To the Second)
The play begins at two. Plenty of time—
And here's the whole floor empty. Shall we try
Our exercise?
(They fence with the foils which they have brought)
A Lackey
(Enters)
—Pst! ... Flanquin! ...
Another
(Already on stage)
What, Champagne?
First Lackey
(Showing games which he takes out of his doublet)
Cards. Dice. Come on.
(Sits on the floor)
Second Lackey
(Same action)
Come on, old cock!
First Lackey
(Takes from his pocket a bit of candle, lights it, sets it on the floor)
I have stolen
A little of my master's fire.
A Guardsman
(To a flower girl who comes forward)
How sweet
Of you, to come before they light the hall!
(Puts his arm around her)
First Cavalier
(Receives a thrust of the foil)
A hit!
Second Lackey
A club!
The Guardsman
(Pursuing the girl)
A kiss!
The Flower Girl
(Pushing away from him)
They'll see us!—
The Guardsman
(Draws her into a dark corner)
No danger!
A Man
(Sits on the floor, together with several others who have brought packages of food)
When we come early, we have time to eat.
A Citizen
(Escorting his son, a boy of sixteen)
Sit here, my son.
First Lackey
Mark the Ace!
Another Man
(Draws a bottle from under his cloak and sits down with the others)
Here's the spot
For a jolly old sot to suck his Burgundy—
(Drinks)
Here —in the house of the Burgundians!
The Citizen
(To his son)
Would you not think you were in some den of vice?
(Points with his cane at the drunkard)
Drunkards—
(In stepping back, one of the cavaliers trips him up)
Bullies!—
(He falls between the lackeys)
Gamblers!—
The Guardsman
(Behind him as he rises, still struggling with the Flower Girl)
One kiss—
The Citizen
Good God!—
(Draws his son quickly away)
Here!—And to think, my son, that in this hall
They play Rotrou!
The Boy
Yes father—and Corneille!
The Pages
(Dance in, holding hands and singing:)
Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-lère ...
The Porter
You pages there—no nonsense!
First Page
(With wounded dignity)
Oh, monsieur!
Really! How could you?
(To the Second, the moment the Porter turns his back)
Pst!—a bit of string?
Second Page
(Shows fishline with hook)
Yes—and a hook.
First Page
Up in the gallery,
And fish for wigs!
A Cut-Purse
(Gathers around him several evil-looking young fellows)
Now then, you picaroons,
Perk up, and hear me mutter. Here's your bout—
Bustle around some cull, and bite his bung ...
Second Page
(Calls to other pages already in the gallery)
Hey! Brought your pea-shooters?
Third Page
(From above)
And our peas, too!
(Blows, and showers them with peas)
The Boy
What is the play this afternoon?
The Citizen
"Clorise."
The Boy
Who wrote that?
The Citizen
Balthasar Baro. What a play! ...
(He takes the Boy's arm and leads him upstage)
The Cut-Purse
(To his pupils)
Lace now, on those long sleeves, you cut it off—
(Gesture with thumb and finger, as if using scissors)
A Spectator
(To another, pointing upward toward the gallery)
Ah, Le Cid! —Yes, the first night, I sat there—
The Cut-Purse
Watches—
(Gesture as of picking a pocket)
The Citizen
(Coming down with his son)
Great actors we shall see to-day—
The Cut-Purse
Handkerchiefs—
(Gesture of holding the pocket with left hand, and drawing out handkerchief with right)
The Citizen
Montfleury—
A Voice
(In the gallery)
Lights! Light the lights!
The Citizen
Bellerose, l'Epy, Beaupré, Jodelet—
A Page
(On the floor)
Here comes the orange girl.
The Orange Girl
Oranges, milk,
Raspberry syrup, lemonade—
(Noise at the door)
A Falsetto Voice
(Outside)
Make way,
Brutes!
First Lackey
What, the Marquis—on the floor?
(The Marquis enter in a little group.)
Second Lackey
Not long—
Only a few moments; they'll go and sit
On the stage presently.
First Marquis
(Seeing the hall half empty)
How now! We enter
Like tradespeople—no crowding, no disturbance!—
No treading on the toes of citizens?
Oh fie! Oh fie!
(He encounters two gentlemen who have already arrived)
Cuigy! Brissaille!
(Great embracings)
Cuigy
The faithful!
(Looks around him.)
We are here before the candles.
First Marquis
Ah, be still!
You put me in a temper.
Second Marquis
Console yourself,
Marquis—The lamplighter!
The Crowd
(Applauding the appearance of the lamplighter)
Ah! ...
(A group gathers around the chandelier while he lights it. A few people have already taken their place in the gallery. Lignière enters the hall, arm in arm with Christian de Neuvillette. Lignière is a slightly disheveled figure, dissipated and yet distinguished looking. Christian, elegantly but rather unfashionably dressed, appears preoccupied and keeps looking up at the boxes.)
Cuigy
Lignière!—
Brissaille
(Laughing)
Still sober—at this hour?
Lignière
(To Christian)
May I present you?
(Christian assents.)
Baron Christian de Neuvillette.
(They salute.)
The Crowd
(Applauding as the lighted chandelier is hoisted into place)
Ah!—
Cuigy
(Aside to Brissaille, looking at Christian)
Rather
A fine head, is it not? The profile ...
First Marquis
(Who has overheard)
Peuh!
Lignière
(Presenting them to Christian)
Messieurs de Cuigy ... de Brissaille ...
Christian
(Bows)
Enchanted!
First Marquis
(To the second)
He is not ill-looking; possibly a shade
Behind the fashion.
Lignière
(To Cuigy)
Monsieur is recently
From the Touraine.
Christian
Yes, I have been in Paris
Two or three weeks only. I join the Guards
To-morrow.
First Marquis
(Watching the people who come into the boxes)
Look—Madame la Présidente
Aubry!
The Orange Girl
Oranges, milk—
The Violins
(Tuning up)
La ... la ...
Cuigy
(To Christian, calling his attention to the increasing crowd)
We have
An audience to-day!
Christian
A brilliant one.
First Marquis
Oh yes, all our own people—the gay world!
(They name the ladies who enter the boxes elaborately dressed. Bows and smiles are exchanged.)
Second Marquis
Madame de Guéméné ...
Cuigy
De Bois-Dauphin ...
First Marquis
Whom we adore—
Brissaille
Madame de Chavigny ...
Second Marquis
Who plays with all our hearts—
Lignière
Why, there's Corneille
Returned from Rouen!
The Boy
(To his father)
Are the Academy
All here?
The Citizen
I see some of them ... there's Boudu—
Bolssat—Cureau—Porchères—Colomby—
Bourzeys—Bourdon—Arbaut— Ah, those great names,
Never to be forgotten!
First Marquis
Look—at last!
Our Intellectuals! Barthénoide,
Urimédonte, Félixérie ...
Second Marquis
(Languishing)
Sweet heaven!
How exquisite their surnames are! Marquis,
You know them all?
First Marquis
I know them all, Marquis!
Lignière
(Draws Christian aside)
My dear boy, I came here to serve you— Well,
But where's the lady? I'll be going.
Christian
Not yet—
A little longer! She is always here.
Please! I must find some way of meeting her.
I am dying of love! And you—you know
Everyone, the whole court and the whole town,
And put them all into your songs—at least
You can tell me her name!
The First Violin
(Raps on his desk with his bow)
Pst— Gentlemen!
(Raises his bow)
The Orange Girl
Macaroons, lemonade—
Christian
Then she may be
One of those aesthetes ... Intellectuals,
You call them— How can I talk to a woman
In that style? I have no wit. This fine manner
Of speaking and of writing nowadays—
Not for me! I am a soldier—and afraid.
That's her box, on the right—the empty one.
Lignière
(Starts for the door)
I am going.
Christian
(Restrains him)
No—wait!
Lignière
Not I. There's a tavern
Not far away—and I am dying of thirst.
The Orange Girl
(Passes with her tray)
Orange juice?
Lignière
No!
The Orange Girl
Milk?
Lignière
Pouah!
The Orange Girl
Muscatel?
Lignière
Here! Stop!
(To Christian)
I'll stay a little.
(To the Girl)
Let me see
Your Muscatel.
(He sits down by the sideboard. The Girl pours out wine for him.)
Voices
(In the crowd about the door, upon the entrance of a spruce little man, rather fat, with a beaming smile)
Ragueneau!
Lignière
(To Christian)
Ragueneau,
Poet and pastry-cook—a character!
Ragueneau
(Dressed like a confectioner in his Sunday clothes, advances quickly to Lignière)
Sir, have you seen Monsieur de Cyrano?
Lignière
(Presents him to Christian)
Permit me ... Ragueneau, confectioner,
The chief support of modern poetry.
Ragueneau
(Bridling)
Oh—too much honor!
Lignière
Patron of the Arts—
Maecenas! Yes, you are—
Ragueneau
Undoubtedly,
The poets gather round my hearth.
Lignière
On credit—
Himself a poet—
Ragueneau
So they say—
Lignière
Maintains
The Muses.
Ragueneau
It is true that for an ode—
Lignière
You give a tart—
Ragueneau
A tartlet—
Lignière
Modesty!
And for a triolet you give—
Ragueneau
Plain bread.
Lignière
(Severely)
Bread and milk! And you love the theatre?
Ragueneau
I adore it!
Lignière
Well, pastry pays for all.
Your place to-day now— Come, between ourselves,
What did it cost you?
Ragueneau
Four pies; fourteen cakes.
(Looking about)
But— Cyrano not here? Astonishing!
Lignière
Why so?
Ragueneau
Why— Montfleury plays!
Lignière
Yes, I hear
That hippopotamus assumes the role
Of Phédon. What is that to Cyrano?
Ragueneau
Have you not heard? Monsieur de Bergerac
So hates Montfleury, he has forbidden him
For three weeks to appear upon the stage.
Lignière
(Who is, by this time, at his fourth glass)
Well?
Ragueneau
Montfleury plays!—
Cuigy
(Strolls over to them)
Yes—what then?
Ragueneau
Ah! That
Is what I came to see.
First Marquis
This Cyrano—
Who is he?
Cuigy
Oh, he is the lad with the long sword.
Second Marquis
Noble?
Cuigy
Sufficiently; he is in the Guards.
(Points to a gentleman who comes and goes about the hall as though seeking for someone)
His friend Le Bret can tell you more.
(Calls to him)
Le Bret!
(Le Bret comes down to them)
Looking for Bergerac?
Le Bret
Yes. And for trouble.
Cuigy
Is he not an extraordinary man?
Le Bret
The best friend and the bravest soul alive!
Ragueneau
Poet—
Cuigy
Swordsman—
Le Bret
Musician—
Brissaille
Philosopher—
Lignière
Such a remarkable appearance, too!
Ragueneau
Truly, I should not look to find his portrait
By the grave hand of Philippe de Champagne.
He might have been a model for Callot—
One of those wild swashbucklers in a masque—
Hat with three plumes, and doublet with six points—
His cloak behind him over his long sword
Cocked, like the tail of strutting Chanticleer—
Prouder than all the swaggering Tamburlaines
Hatched out of Gascony. And to complete
This Punchinello figure—such a nose!—
My lords, there is no such nose as that nose—
You cannot look upon it without crying: "Oh, no,
Impossible! Exaggerated!" Then
You smile, and say: "Of course— I might have known;
Presently he will take it off." But that
Monsieur de Bergerac will never do.
Lignière
(Grimly)
He keeps it—and God help the man who smiles!
Ragueneau
His sword is one half of the shears of Fate!
First Marquis
(Shrugs)
He will not come.
Ragueneau
Will he not? Sir, I'll lay you
A pullet à la Ragueneau!
First Marquis
(Laughing)
Done!
(Murmurs of admiration; Roxane has just appeared in her box. She sits at the front of the box, and her Duenna takes a seat toward the rear. Christian, busy paying the Orange Girl, does not see her at first.)
Second Marquis
(With little excited cries)
Ah!
Oh! Oh! Sweet sirs, look yonder! Is she not
Frightfully ravishing?
First Marquis
Bloom of the peach—
Blush of the strawberry—
Second Marquis
So fresh—so cool,
That our hearts, grown all warm with loving her,
May catch their death of cold!
Christian
(Looks up, sees Roxane, and seizes Lignière by the arm.)
There! Quick—up there—
In the box! Look!—
Lignière
(Coolly)
Herself?
Christian
Quickly— Her name?
Lignière
(Sipping his wine, and speaking between sips)
Madeleine Robin, called Roxane ... refined ...
Intellectual...
Christian
Ah!—
Lignière
Unmarried ...
Christian
Oh!
Lignière
No title ... rich enough ... an orphan ... cousin
To Cyrano ... of whom we spoke just now ...
(At this point, a very distinguished looking gentleman, the Cordon Bleu around his neck, enters the box, and stands a moment talking with Roxane.)
Christian
(Starts)
And the man? ...
Lignière
(Beginning to feel his wine a little; cocks his eye at them.)
Oho! That man? ... Comte de Guiche ...
In love with her ... married himself, however,
To the niece of the Cardinal—Richelieu ...
Wishes Roxane, therefore, to marry one
Monsieur de Valvert... Vicomte ... friend of his ...
A somewhat melancholy gentleman ...
But... well, accommodating! ... She says No ...
Nevertheless, de Guiche is powerful ...
Not above persecuting ...
(He rises, swaying a little, and very happy.)
I have written
A little song about his little game ...
Good little song, too ... Here, I'll sing it for you ...
Make de Guiche furious ... naughty little song ...
Not so bad, either— Listen! ...
(He stands with his glass held aloft, ready to sing.)
Christian
No. Adieu.
Lignière
Whither away?
Christian
To Monsieur de Valvert!
Lignière
Careful! The man's a swordsman ...
(Nods toward Roxane, who is watching Christian.)
Wait! Someone
Looking at you—
Christian
Roxane! ...
(He forgets everything, and stands spellbound, gazing toward Roxane. The Cut-Purse and his crew, observing him transfixed, his eyes raised and his mouth half open, begin edging in his direction.)
Lignière
Oh! Very well,
Then I'll be leaving you ... Good day ... Good day! ...
(Christian remains motionless.)
Everywhere else, they like to hear me sing!—
Also, I am thirsty.
(He goes out, navigating carefully. Le Bret, having made the circuit of the hall, returns to Ragueneau, somewhat reassured.)
Le Bret
No sign anywhere
Of Cyrano!
Ragueneau
(Incredulous)
Wait and see!
Le Bret
Humph! I hope
He has not seen the bill.
The Crowd
The play!— The play!—
First Marquis
(Observing de Guiche, as he descends from Roxane's box and crosses the floor, followed by a knot of obsequious gentlemen, the Vicomte de Valvert among them.)
This man de Guiche—what ostentation!
Second Marquis
Bah!—
Another Gascon!
First Marquis
Gascon, yes—but cold
And calculating—certain to succeed—
My word for it. Come, shall we make our bow?
We shall be none the worse, I promise you ...
(They go toward de Guiche.)
Second Marquis
Beautiful ribbons, Count! That color, now,
What is it—"Kiss-me-Dear" or "Startled-Fawn"?
de Guiche
I call that shade "The Dying Spaniard".
First Marquis
Ha!
And no false colors either—thanks to you
And your brave troops, in Flanders before long
The Spaniard will die daily.
de Guiche
Shall we go
And sit upon the stage? Come, Valvert.
Christian
(Starts at the name)
Valvert!—
The Vicomte— Ah, that scoundrel! Quick—my glove—
I'll throw it in his face—
(Reaching into his pocket for his glove, he catches the hand of the Cut-Purse)
The Cut-Purse
Oh!—
Christian
(Holding fast to the man's wrist)
Who are you?
I was looking for a glove—
The Cut-Purse
(Cringing)
You found a hand.
(Hurriedly)
Let me go— I can tell you something—
Christian
(Still holding him)
Well?
The Cut-Purse
Lignière—that friend of yours—
Christian
(Same business)
Well?
The Cut-Purse
Good as dead—
Understand? Ambuscaded. Wrote a song
About—no matter. There's a hundred men
Waiting for him to-night—I'm one of them.
Christian
A hundred? Who arranged this?
The Cut-Purse
Secret.
Christian
Oh!
The Cut-Purse
(With dignity)
Professional secret.
Christian
Where are they to be?
The Cut-Purse
Porte de Nesle. On his way home. Tell him so.
Save his life.
Christian
(Releases the man)
Yes, but where am I to find him?
The Cut-Purse
Go round the taverns. There's the Golden Grape,
The Pineapple, the Bursting Belt, the Two
Torches, the Three Funnels—in every one
You leave a line of writing—understand?
To warn him.
Christian
(Starts for the door)
I'll go! God, what swine—a hundred
Against one man! ...
(Stops and looks longingly at Roxane)
Leave her here!—
(Savagely, turning toward Valvert)
And leave him! —
(Decidedly)
I must save Lignière!
(Exit)
(De Guiche, Valvert, and all the Marquis have disappeared through the curtains, to take their seats upon the stage. The floor is entirely filled; not a vacant seat remains in the gallery or in the boxes.)
The Crowd
The play! The play!
Begin the play!
A Citizen
(As his wig is hoisted into the air on the end of a fishline, in the hands of a page in the gallery)
My wig!!
Cries of Joy
He's bald! Bravo,
You pages! Ha ha ha!
The Citizen
(Furious, shakes his fist at the boy)
Here, you young villain!
Cries of Laughter
(Beginning very loud, then suddenly repressed)
HA HA! Ha Ha! ha ha...
(Complete silence)
Le Bret
(Surprised)
That sudden hush? ...
(A Spectator whispers in his ear.)
Yes?
The Spectator
I was told on good authority ...
Murmurs
(Here and there)
What? ... Here? ... No ... Yes ... Look—in the latticed
box—
The Cardinal! ... The Cardinal! ...
A Page
The Devil!—
Now we shall all have to behave ourselves!
(Three raps on the stage. The audience becomes motionless. Silence)
The Voice of a Marquis
(From the stage, behind the curtains)
Snuff that candle!
Another Marquis
(Puts his head out through the curtains.)
A chair! ...
(A chair is passed from hand to hand over the heads of the crowd. He takes it, and disappears behind the curtains, not without having blown a few kisses to the occupants of the boxes.)
A Spectator
Silence!
Voices
Hssh! ... Hssh! ...
(Again the three raps on the stage. The curtains part. Tableau. The Marquis seated on their chairs to right and left of the stage, insolently posed. Back drop representing a pastoral scene, bluish in tone. Four little crystal chandeliers light up the stage. The violins play softly.)
Le Bret
(In a low tone, to Ragueneau)
Montfleury enters now?
Ragueneau
(Nods)
Opens the play.
Le Bret
(Much relieved)
Then Cyrano is not here!
Ragueneau
I lose ...
Le Bret
Humph!—
So much the better!
(The melody of a Musette is heard. Montfleury appears upon the scene, a ponderous figure in the costume of a rustic shepherd, a hat garlanded with roses tilted over one ear, playing upon a beribboned pastoral pipe)
The Crowd
(Applauds)
Montfleury! ... Bravo! ...
Montfleury
(After bowing to the applause, begins the role of Phédon)
"Thrice happy he who hides from pomp and power
In sylvan shade or solitary bower;
Where balmy zephyrs fan his burning cheeks—"
A Voice
(From the midst of the hall)
Wretch. Have I not forbade you these three weeks?
(Sensation. Everyone turns to look. Murmurs)
Several Voices
What? ... Where? ... Who is it? ...
Cuigy
Cyrano!
Le Bret
(In alarm)
Himself!
The Voice
King of clowns! Leave the stage— at once!
The Crowd
Oh!—
Montfleury
Now,
Now, now—
The Voice
You disobey me?
Several Voices
(From the floor, from the boxes)
Hsh! Go on—
Quiet!—Go on, Montfleury!—Who's afraid?—
Montfleury
(In a voice of no great assurance)
"Thrice happy he who hides from .. "
The Voice
(More menacingly)
Well? Well? Well?...
Monarch of mountebanks! Must I come and plant
A forest on your shoulders?
(A cane at the end of a long arm shakes above the heads of the crowd.)
Montfleury
(In a voice increasingly feeble)
"Thrice hap—"
(The cane is violently agitated.)
The Voice
GO!!!
The Crowd
Ah ...
Cyrano
(Arises in the centre of the floor, erect upon a chair, his arms folded, his hat cocked ferociously, his moustache bristling, his nose terrible.)
Presently I shall grow angry!
(Sensation at his appearance)
Montfleury
(To the Marquis)
Messieurs,
If you protect me—
A Marquis
(Nonchalantly)
Well—proceed!
Cyrano
Fat swine!
If you dare breathe one balmy zephyr more,
I'll fan your cheeks for you!
The Marquis
Quiet down there!
Cyrano
Unless these gentlemen retain their seats,
My cane may bite their ribbons!
All the Marquis
(On their feet)
That will do!—
Montfleury—
Cyrano
Fly, goose! Shoo! Take to your wings,
Before I pluck your plumes, and draw your gorge!
A Voice
See here—
Cyrano
Off stage!!
Another Voice
One moment—
Cyrano
What—still there?
(Turns back his cuffs deliberately.)
Very good—then I enter— Left — with knife —
To carve this large Italian sausage.
Montfleury
(Desperately attempting dignity)
Sir,
When you insult me, you insult the Muse!
Cyrano
(With great politeness)
Sir, if the Muse, who never knew your name,
Had the honor to meet you—then be sure
That after one glance at that face of yours,
That figure of a mortuary urn—
She would apply her buskin—toward the rear!
The Crowd
Montfleury! ... Montfleury! ... The play! The play!
Cyrano
(To those who are shouting and crowding about him)
Pray you, be gentle with my scabbard here—
She'll put her tongue out at you presently!—
(The circle enlarges.)
The Crowd
(Recoiling)
Keep back—
Cyrano
(To Montfleury)
Begone!
The Crowd
(Pushing in closer, and growling.)
Ahr! ... ahr! ...
Cyrano
(Turns upon them.)
Did someone speak?
(They recoil again.)
A Voice
(In the back of the hall, sings.)
Monsieur de Cyrano
Must be another Caesar—
Let Brutus lay him low,
And play us "La Clorise"!
All the Crowd
(Singing)
"La Clorise!" "La Clorise!"
Cyrano
Let me hear one more word of that same song,
And I destroy you all!
A Citizen
Who might you be?
Samson?—
Cyrano
Precisely. Would you kindly lend me
Your jawbone?
A Lady
(In one of the boxes)
What an outrage!
A Noble
Scandalous!
A Citizen
Annoying!
A Page
What a game!
The Crowd
Kss! Montfleury!
Cyrano!
Cyrano
Silence!
The Crowd
(Delirious)
Woof! Woof! Baaa! Cockadoo!
Cyrano
I—
A Page
Meow!
Cyrano
I say be silent!—
(His voice dominates the uproar. Momentary hush.)
And I offer
One universal challenge to you all!
Approach, young heroes—I will take your names.
Each in his turn—no crowding! One, two, three—
Come, get your numbers—who will head the list—
You sir? No— You? Ah, no. To the first man
Who falls I'll build a monument! ... Not one?
Will all who wish to die, please raise their hands? ...
I see. You are so modest, you might blush
Before a sword naked. Sweet innocence! ...
Not one name? Not one finger? ... Very well,
Then I go on:
(Turning back towards the stage, where Montfleury waits in despair.)
I'd have our theatre cured
Of this carbuncle. Or if not, why then—
(His hand on his sword hilt.)
The lancet!
Montfleury
I—
Cyrano
(Descends from his chair, seats himself comfortably in the centre of the circle which has formed around him, and makes himself quite at home.)
Attend to me—full moon!
I clap my hands, three times—thus. At the third
You will eclipse yourself.
The Crowd
(Amused)
Ah!
Cyrano
Ready? One!
Montfleury
I—
A Voice
(From the boxes)
No!
The Crowd
He'll go— He'll stay—
Montfleury
I really think,
Gentlemen—
Cyrano
Two!
Montfleury
Perhaps I had better—
Cyrano
Three!
(Montfleury disappears, as if through a trapdoor. Tempest of laughter, hoots and hisses.)
The Crowd
Yah!—Coward— Come back—
Cyrano
(Beaming, drops back in his chair and crosses his legs)
Let him—if he dare!
A Citizen
The Manager! Speech! Speech!
(Bellerose advances and bows.)
The Boxes
Ah! Bellerose!
Bellerose
(With elegance)
Most noble—most fair—
The Crowd
No! The Comedian—
Jodelet!—
Jodelet
(Advances, and speaks through his nose.)
Lewd fellows of the baser sort—
The Crowd
Ha! Ha! Not bad! Bravo!
Jodelet
No Bravos here!
Our heavy tragedian with the voluptuous bust
Was taken suddenly—
The Crowd
Yah! Coward!
Jodelet
I mean ...
He had to be excused—
The Crowd
Call him back— No!—
Yes!—
The Boy
(To Cyrano)
After all, Monsieur, what reason have you
To hate this Montfleury?
Cyrano
(Graciously, still seated)
My dear young man,
I have two reasons, either one alone
Conclusive. Primo: A lamentable actor,
Who mouths his verse and moans his tragedy,
And heaves up— Ugh!—like a hod-carrier, lines
That ought to soar on their own wings. Secundo: —
Well—that's my secret.
The Old Citizen
(Behind him)
But you close the play—
"La Clorise"—by Baro! Are we to miss
Our entertainment, merely—
Cyrano
(Respectfully, turns his chair toward the old man)
My dear old boy,
The poetry of Baro being worth
Zero, or less, I feel that I have done
Poetic justice!
The Intellectuals
(In the boxes)
Really!—our Baro!—
My dear!—Who ever?—Ah, dieu! The idea!—
Cyrano
(Gallantly, turns his chair toward the boxes)
Fair ladies—shine upon us like the sun,
Blossom like the flowers around us—be our songs,
Heard in a dream— Make sweet the hour of death,
Smiling upon us as you close our eyes—
Inspire, but do not try to criticise!
Bellerose
Quite so!—and the mere money—possibly
You would like that returned— Yes?
Cyrano
Bellerose,
You speak the first word of intelligence!
I will not wound the mantle of the Muse—
Here, catch!—
(Throws him a purse)
And hold your tongue.
The Crowd
(Astonished)
Ah! Ah!
Jodelet
(Deftly catches the purse, weighs it in his hand.)
Monsieur,
You are hereby authorized to close our play
Every night, on the same terms.
The Crowd
Boo!
Jodelet
And welcome!
Let us be booed together, you and I!
Bellerose
Kindly pass out quietly ...
Jodelet
(Burlesquing Bellerose)
Quietly ...
(They begin to go out, while Cyrano looks about him with satisfaction. But the exodus ceases presently during the ensuing scene. The ladies in the boxes who have already risen and put on their wraps, stop to listen, and finally sit down again.)
Le Bret
(To Cyrano)
Idiot!
A Meddler
(Hurries up to Cyrano.)
But what a scandal! Montfleury—
The great Montfleury! Did you know the
Duc de Candale was his patron? Who is yours?
Cyrano
No one.
The Meddler
No one—no patron?
Cyrano
I said no.
The Meddler
What, no great lord, to cover with his name—
Cyrano
(With visible annoyance)
No, I have told you twice. Must I repeat?
No sir, no patron—
(His hand on his sword)
But a patroness!
The Meddler
And when do you leave Paris?
Cyrano
That's as may be.
The Meddler
The Duc de Candale has a long arm,
Cyrano
Mine
Is longer,
(Drawing his sword)
by three feet of steel.
The Meddler
Yes, yes,
But do you dream of daring—
Cyrano
I do dream
Of daring ...
The Meddler
But—
Cyrano
You may go now.
The Meddler
But—
Cyrano
You may go—
Or tell me why are you staring at my nose!
The Meddler
(In confusion)
No—I—
Cyrano
(Stepping up to him)
Does it astonish you?
The Meddler
(Drawing back)
Your grace
Misunderstands my—
Cyrano
Is it long and soft
And dangling, like a trunk?
The Meddler
(Same business)
I never said—
Cyrano
Or crooked, like an owl's beak?
The Meddler
I—
Cyrano
Perhaps
A pimple ornaments the end of it?
The Meddler
No—
Cyrano
Or a fly parading up and down?
What is this portent?
The Meddler
Oh!—
Cyrano
This phenomenon?
The Meddler
But I have been careful not to look—
Cyrano
And why
Not, if you please?
The Meddler
Why—
Cyrano
It disgusts you, then?
The Meddler
My dear sir—
Cyrano
Does its color appear to you
Unwholesome?
The Meddler
Oh, by no means!
Cyrano
Or its form
Obscene?
The Meddler
Not in the least—
Cyrano
Then why assume
This deprecating manner? Possibly
You find it just a trifle large?
The Meddler
(Babbling)
Oh no!—
Small, very small, infinitesimal—
Cyrano
(Roars)
What?
How? You accuse me of absurdity?
Small— my nose? Why—
The Meddler
(Breathless)
My God!—
Cyrano
Magnificent,
My nose! ... You pug, you knob, you button-head,
Know that I glory in this nose of mine,
For a great nose indicates a great man:—
Genial, courteous, intellectual,
Virile, courageous—as I am—and such
As you—poor wretch—will never dare to be
Even in imagination. For that face—
That blank, inglorious concavity
Which my right hand finds—
(He strikes him.)
The Meddler
Ow!
Cyrano
—on top of you,
Is as devoid of pride, of poetry,
Of soul, of picturesqueness, of contour,
Of character, of NOSE in short—as that
(Takes him by the shoulders and turns him around, suiting the action to the word)
Which at the end of that limp spine of yours
My left foot—
The Meddler
(Escaping)
Help! The Guard!
Cyrano
Take notice, all
Who find this feature of my countenance
A theme for comedy! When the humorist
Is noble, then my custom is to show
Appreciation proper to his rank—
More heartfelt ... and more pointed....
de Guiche
(Who has come down from the stage, surrounded by the Marquis)
Presently
This fellow will grow tiresome.
Valvert
(Shrugs)
Oh, he blows
His trumpet!
de Guiche
Well—will no one interfere?
Valvert
No one?
(Looks around)
Observe. I myself will proceed
To put him in his place.
(He walks up to Cyrano, who has been watching him, and stands there, looking him over with an affected air.)
Ah ... your nose ... hem! ...
Your nose is ... rather large!
Cyrano
(Gravely)
Rather.
Valvert
(Simpering)
Oh well—
Cyrano
(Coolly)
Is that all?
Valvert
(Turns away with a shrug)
Well, of course—
Cyrano
Ah, no, young sir!
You are too simple. Why, you might have said—
Oh, a great many things! Mon dieu, why waste
Your opportunity? For example, thus:—
Aggressive: I, sir, if that nose were mine,
I'd have it amputated—on the spot!
Friendly: How do you drink with such a nose?
You ought to have a cup made specially.
Descriptive: 'Tis a rock—a crag—a cape—
A cape? say rather, a peninsula!
Inquisitive: What is that receptacle—
A razor-case or a portfolio?
Kindly: Ah, do you love the little birds
So much that when they come and sing to you,
You give them this to perch on? Insolent:
Sir, when you smoke, the neighbors must suppose
Your chimney is on fire. Cautious: Take care—
A weight like that might make you topheavy.
Thoughtful: Somebody fetch my parasol—
Those delicate colors fade so in the sun!
Pedantic: Does not Aristophanes
Mention a mythologic monster called
Hippocampelephantocamelos?
Surely we have here the original!
Familiar : Well, old torchlight! Hang your hat
Over that chandelier—it hurts my eyes.
Eloquent: When it blows, the typhoon howls,
And the clouds darken. Dramatic: When it bleeds—
The Red Sea! Enterprising: What a sign
For some perfumer! Lyric: Hark—the horn
Of Roland calls to summon Charlemagne!—
Simple: When do they unveil the monument?
Respectful: Sir, I recognize in you
A man of parts, a man of prominence—
Rustic: Hey? What? Call that a nose? Na na—
I be no fool like what you think I be—
That there's a blue cucumber! Military:
Point against cavalry! Practical: Why not
A lottery with this for the grand prize?
Or—parodying Faustus in the play—
"Was this the nose that launched a thousand ships
And burned the topless towers of Ilium?"
These, my dear sir, are things you might have said
Had you some tinge of letters, or of wit
To color your discourse. But wit,—not so,
You never had an atom—and of letters,
You need but three to write you down—an Ass.
Moreover,—if you had the invention, here
Before these folks to make a jest of me—
Be sure you would not then articulate
The twentieth part of half a syllable
Of the beginning! For I say these things
Lightly enough myself, about myself,
But I allow none else to utter them.
de Guiche
(Tries to lead away the amazed Valvert.)
Vicomte—come.
Valvert
(Choking)
Oh— These arrogant grand airs!—
A clown who—look at him—not even gloves!
No ribbons—no lace—no buckles on his shoes—
Cyrano
I carry my adornments on my soul.
I do not dress up like a popinjay;
But inwardly, I keep my daintiness.
I do not bear with me, by any chance,
An insult not yet washed away—a conscience
Yellow with unpurged bile—an honor frayed
To rags, a set of scruples badly worn.
I go caparisoned in gems unseen,
Trailing white plumes of freedom, garlanded
With my good name—no figure of a man,
But a soul clothed in shining armor, hung
With deeds for decorations, twirling—thus—
A bristling wit, and swinging at my side
Courage, and cm the stones of this old town
Making the sharp truth ring, like golden spurs!
Valvert
But—
Cyrano
But I have no gloves! A pity too!
I had one—the last one of an old pair—
And lost that. Very careless of me. Some
Gentleman offered me an impertinence.
I left it—in his face.
Valvert
Dolt, bumpkin, fool,
Insolent puppy, jobbernowl!
Cyrano
(Removes his hat and bows.)
Ah, yes?
And I—Cyrano-Savinien-Hercule
De Bergerac!
Valvert
(Turns away.)
Buffoon!
Cyrano
(Cries out as if suddenly taken with a cramp.)
Oh!
Valvert
(Turns back.)
Well, what now?
Cyrano
(With grimaces of anguish)
I must do something to relieve these cramps—
This is what comes of lack of exercise—
Ah!—
Valvert
What is all this?
Cyrano
My sword has gone to sleep?
Valvert
(Draws)
So be it!
Cyrano
You shall die exquisitely.
Valvert
(Contemptuously)
Poet!
Cyrano
Why yes, a poet, if you will;
So while we fence, I'll make you a Ballade
Extempore.
Valvert
A Ballade?
Cyrano
Yes. You know
What that is?
Valvert
I—
Cyrano
The Ballade, sir, is formed
Of three stanzas of eight lines each—
Valvert
Oh, come!
Cyrano
And a refrain of four.
Valvert
You—
Cyrano
I'll compose
One, while I fight with you; and at the end
Of the last line—thrust home!
Valvert
Will you?
Cyrano
I will
(Declaims)
"Ballade of the duel at the Hôtel de Bourgogne
Between de Bergerac and a Boeotian."
Valvert
(Sneering)
What do you mean by that?
Cyrano
Oh, that? The title.
The Crowd
(Excited)
Come on—
A circle—
Quiet—
Down in front!
(Tableau. A ring of interested spectators in the centre of the floor, the Marquis and the Officers mingling with the citizens and common folk. Pages swarming up on men's shoulders to see better; the Ladies in the boxes standing and leaning over. To the right, De Guiche and his following; to the left, Le Bret, Cuigy, Ragueneau, and others of Cyrano's friends.)
Cyrano
(Closes his eyes for an instant.)
Stop ... Let me choose my rimes.... Now! Here we go—
(He suits the action to the word, throughout the following:)
Lightly I toss my hat away,
Languidly over my arm let fall
The cloak that covers my bright array—
Then out swords, and to work withal!
A Launcelot, in his Lady's hall ...
A Spartacus, at the Hippodrome! ...
I dally awhile with you, dear jackal,
Then, as I end the refrain, thrust home!
(The swords cross — the fight is on.)
Where shall I skewer my peacock? ... Nay,
Better for you to have shunned this brawl!—
Here, in the heart, thro' your ribbons gay?
—In the belly, under your silken shawl?
Hark, how the steel rings musical!
Mark how my point floats, light as the foam,
Ready to drive you back to the wall,
Then, as I end the refrain, thrust home!Ho, for a rime! ... You are white as whey—
You break, you cower, you cringe, you ... crawl!
Tac!—and I parry your last essay:
So may the turn of a hand forestall
Life with its honey, death with its gall;
So may the turn of my fancy roam
Free, for a time, till the rimes recall,
Then, as I end the refrain, thrust home!
(He announces solemnly.)
Refrain:
Prince! Pray God, that is Lord of all,
Pardon your soul, for your time has come!
Beat—pass—fling you aslant, asprawl—
Then, as I end the refrain ...
(He lunges; Valvert staggers back and falls into the arms of his friends. Cyrano recovers, and salutes.)
—Thrust home!
(Shouts. Applause from the boxes. Flowers and handkerchiefs come fluttering down. The Officers surround Cyrano and congratulate him. Ragueneau dances for joy. Le Bret is unable to conceal his enthusiasm. The friends of Valvert hold him up and help him away.)
The Crowd
(In one long cry)
Ah-h!
A Cavalier
Superb!
A Woman
Simply sweet!
Ragueneau
Magnelephant!
A Marquis
A novelty!
Le Bret
Bah!
The Crowd
(Thronging around Cyrano)
Compliments—regards—
Bravo!—
A Woman's Voice
Why, he's a hero!
A Musketeer
(Advances quickly to Cyrano, with outstretched hands.)
Monsieur, will you
Permit me?—It was altogether fine!
I think I may appreciate these things—
Moreover, I have been stamping for pure joy!
(He retires quickly.)
Cyrano
(To Cuigy)
What was that gentleman's name?
Cuigy
Oh ... D'Artagnan.
Le Bret
(Takes Cyrano's arm.)
Come here and tell me—
Cyrano
Let this crowd go first—
(To Bellerose)
May we stay?
Bellerose
(With great respect)
Certainly!
(Cries and cat-calls off stage.)
Jodelet
(Comes down from the door where he has been looking out.)
Hark!— Montfleury—
They are hooting him.
Bellerose
(Solemnly)
"Sic transit gloria!"
(Changes his tone and shouts to the Porter and the Lamplighter.)
—Strike! ... Close the house! ... Leave the lights—We rehearse
The new farce after dinner.
(Jodelet and Bellerose go out after elaborately saluting Cyrano.)
The Porter
(To Cyrano)
You do not dine?
Cyrano
I?—No!
(The Porter turns away.)
Le Bret
Why not?
Cyrano
(Haughtily)
Because—
(Changing his tone when he sees the Porter has gone.)
Because I have
No money.
Le Bret
(Gesture of tossing)
But—the purse of gold?
Cyrano
Farewell,
Paternal pension!
Le Bret
So you have, until
The first of next month—?
Cyrano
Nothing.
Le Bret
What a fool!—
Cyrano
But—what a gesture!
The Orange Girl
(Behind her little counter; coughs.)
Hem!
(Cyrano and Le Bret look around; she advances timidly.)
Pardon, monsieur ...
A man ought never to go hungry ...
(Indicating the sideboard)
See
I have everything here
(Eagerly)
Please!—
Cyrano
(Uncovers)
My dear child,
I cannot bend this Gascon pride of mine
To accept such a kindness— Yet, for fear
That I may give you pain if I refuse,
I will take ...
(He goes to the sideboard and makes his selection.)
Oh, not very much! A grape ...
(She gives him the bunch; he removes a single grape.)
One only! And a glass of water ...
(She starts to pour wine into it; he stops her.)
Clear!
And ... half a macaroon!
(He gravely returns the other half.)
Le Bret
Old idiot!
The Orange Girl
Please!— Nothing more?
Cyrano
Why yes— Your hand to kiss.
(He kisses the hand which she holds out, as he would the hand of a princess.)
The Orange Girl
Thank you, sir.
(She curtseys.)
Good-night.
(She goes out.)
Cyrano
Now, I am listening.
(Plants himself before the sideboard and arranges thereon — )
Dinner!—
(— the macaroon)
Drink!—
(— the glass of water)
Dessert!—
(— the grape.)
There—now I'll sit down.
(Seats himself.)
Lord, I was hungry! Abominably!
(Eating)
Well?
Le Bret
These fatheads with the bellicose grand airs
Will have you ruined if you listen to them;
Talk to a man of sense and hear how all
Your swagger impresses him.
Cyrano
(Finishes his macaroon)
Enormously.
Le Bret
The Cardinal—
Cyrano
(Beaming)
Was he there?
Le Bret
He must have thought you—
Cyrano
Original.
Le Bret
Well, but—
Cyrano
He is himself
A playwright. He will not be too displeased
That I have closed another author's play.
Le Bret
But look at all the enemies you have made!
Cyrano
(Begins on the grape.)
How many—do you think?
Le Bret
Just forty-eight
Without the women,
Cyrano
Count them.
Le Bret
Montfleury,
Baro, de Guiche, the Vicomte, the Old Man,
All the Academy—
Cyrano
Enough! You make me
Happy!
Le Bret
But where is all this leading you?
What is your plan?
Cyrano
I have been wandering—
Wasting my force upon too many plans.
Now I have chosen one.
Le Bret
What one?
Cyrano
The simplest—
To make myself in all things admirable!
Le Bret
Hmph!— Well, then, the real reason why you hate
Montfleury—Come, the truth, now!
Cyrano
(Rises)
That Silenus,
Who cannot hold his belly in his arms,
Still dreams of being sweetly dangerous
Among the women—sighs and languishes,
Making sheeps' eyes out of his great frog's face—
I hate him ever since one day he dared
Smile upon—
Oh, my friend, I seemed to see
Over some flower a great snail crawling!
Le Bret
(Amazed)
How,
What? Is it possible?—
Cyrano
(With a bitter smile)
For me to love? ...
(Changing his tone; seriously)
I love,
Le Bret
May I know? You have never said—
Cyrano
Whom I love? Think a moment. Think of me—
Me, whom the plainest woman would despise—
Me, with this nose of mine that marches on
Before me by a quarter of an hour!
Whom should I love? Why—of course—it must be
The woman in the world most beautiful.
Le Bret
Most beautiful?
Cyrano
In all this world—most sweet;
Also most wise; most witty; and most fair!
Le Bret
Who and what is this woman?
Cyrano
Dangerous
Mortally, without meaning; exquisite
Without imagining. Nature's own snare
To allure manhood. A white rose wherein
Love lies in ambush for his natural prey.
Who knows her smile has known a perfect thing.
She creates grace in her own image, brings
Heaven to earth in one movement of her hand—
Nor thou, O Venus! balancing thy shell
Over the Mediterranean blue, nor thou,
Diana! marching through broad, blossoming woods,
Art so divine as when she mounts her chair,
And goes abroad through Paris!
Le Bret
Oh, well—of course,
That makes everything clear!
Cyrano
Transparently.
Le Bret
Madeleine Robin—your cousin?
Cyrano
Yes; Roxane.
Le Bret
And why not? If you love her, tell her so!
You have covered yourself with glory in her eyes
This very day.
Cyrano
My old friend—look at me,
And tell me how much hope remains for me
With this protuberance! Oh I have no more
Illusions! Now and then—bah! I may grow
Tender, walking alone in the blue cool
Of evening, through some garden fresh with flowers
After the benediction of the rain;
My poor big devil of a nose inhales
April... and so I follow with my eyes
Where some boy, with a girl upon his arm,
Passes a patch of silver ... and I feel
Somehow, I wish I had a woman too,
Walking with little steps under the moon,
And holding my arm so, and smiling. Then
I dream—and I forget ...
And then I see
The shadow of my profile on the wall!
Le Bret
My friend! ...
Cyrano
My friend, I have my bitter days,
Knowing myself so ugly, so alone.
Sometimes—
Le Bret
You weep?
Cyrano
(Quickly)
Oh, not that ever! No,
That would be too grotesque—tears trickling down
All the long way along this nose of mine?
I will not so profane the dignity
Of sorrow. Never any tears for me!
Why, there is nothing more sublime than tears,
Nothing!—Shall I make them ridiculous
In my poor person?
Le Bret
Love's no more than chance!
Cyrano
(Shakes his head.)
No. I love Cleopatra; do I appear
Caesar? I adore Beatrice; have I
The look of Dante?
Le Bret
But your wit—your courage—
Why, that poor child who offered you just now
Your dinner! She—you saw with your own eyes,
Her eyes did not avoid you.
Cyrano
(Thoughtful)
That is true ...
Le Bret
Well then! Roxane herself, watching your duel,
Paler than—
Cyrano
Pale?—
Le Bret
Her lips parted, her hand
Thus, at her breast— I saw it! Speak to her
Speak, man!
Cyrano
Through my nose? She might laugh at me;
That is the one thing in this world I fear!
The Porter
(Followed by the Duenna, approaches Cyrano respectfully.)
A lady asking for Monsieur.
Cyrano
Mon dieu ...
Her Duenna!—
The Duenna
(A sweeping curtsey)
Monsieur...
A message for you:
From our good cousin we desire to know
When and where we may see him privately.
Cyrano
(Amazed)
To see me?
The Duenna
(An elaborate reverence)
To see you. We have certain things
To tell you.
Cyrano
Certain—
The Duenna
Things.
Cyrano
(Trembling)
Mon dieu! ...
The Duenna
We go
To-morrow, at the first flush of the dawn,
To hear Mass at St Roch. Then afterwards,
Where can we meet and talk a little?
Cyrano
(Catching Le Bret's arm)
Where?—
I— Ah, mon dieu!... mon dieu! ...
The Duenna
Well?
Cyrano
I am thinking ...
The Duenna
And you think?
Cyrano
I... The shop of Ragueneau
Ragueneau—pastrycook
The Duenna
Who dwells?—
Cyrano
Mon dieu! ...
Oh, yes ... Ah, mon dieu! ... Rue St.-Honoré.
The Duenna
We are agreed. Remember—seven o'clock.
(Reverence)
Until then—
Cyrano
I'll be there.
(The Duenna goes out.)
(Falls into the arms of Le Bret.)
Me ... to see me! ...
Le Bret
You are not quite so gloomy.
Cyrano
After all,
She knows that I exist—no matter why!
Le Bret
So now, you are going to be happy.
Cyrano
Now! ...
(Beside himself)
I—I am going to be a storm—a flame—
I need to fight whole armies all alone;
I have ten hearts; I have a hundred arms; I feel
Too strong to war with mortals—
(He shouts at the top of his voice.)
BRING ME GIANTS!
(A moment since, the shadows of the comedians have been visible moving and posturing upon the stage. The violins have taken their places.)
A Voice
(From the stage)
Hey—pst—less noise! We are rehearsing here!
Cyrano
(Laughs)
We are going.
(He turns up stage. Through the street door enter Cuigy, Brissaille, and a number of officers, supporting Lignière, who is now thoroughly drunk.)
Cuigy
Cyrano!
Cyrano
What is it?
Cuigy
Here—
Here's your stray lamb!
Cyrano
(Recognizes Lignière.)
Lignière—What's wrong with him?
Cuigy
He wants you.
Brissaille
He's afraid to go home.
Cyrano
Why?
Lignière
(Showing a crumpled scrap of paper and speaking with the elaborate logic of profound intoxication.)
This letter—hundred against one—that's me—
I'm the one—all because of little song—
Good song— Hundred men, waiting, understand?
Porte de Nesle—way home— Might be dangerous—
Would you permit me spend the night with you?
Cyrano
A hundred—is that all? You are going home!
Lignière
(Astonished)
Why—
Cyrano
(In a voice of thunder, indicating the lighted lantern which the Porter holds up curiously as he regards the scene.)
Take that lantern!
(Lignière precipitately seizes the lantern.)
Forward march! I say
I'll be the man to-night that sees you home.
(To the officers)
You others follow—I want an audience!
Cuigy
A hundred against one—
Cyrano
Those are the odds
To-night!
(The Comedians in their costumes are descending from the stage and joining the group.)
Le Bret
But why help this—
Cyrano
There goes Le Bret
Growling!
Le Bret
—This drunkard here?
Cyrano
(His hand on Le Bret's shoulder.)
Because this drunkard—
This tun of sack, this butt of Burgundy—
Once in his life has done one lovely thing:
After the Mass, according to the form,
He saw, one day, the lady of his heart
Take holy water for a blessing. So
This one, who shudders at a drop of rain,
This fellow here—runs headlong to the font
Bends down and drinks it dry!
A Soubrette
I say that was
A pretty thought!
Cyrano
Ah, was it not?
The Soubrette
(To the others)
But why
Against one poor poet, a hundred men?
Cyrano
March!
(To the officers)
And you gentlemen, remember now,
No rescue— Let me fight alone.
A Comedienne
(Jumps down from the stage.)
Come on!
I'm going to watch—
Cyrano
Come along!
Another Comedienne
(Jumps down, speaks to a Comedian costumed as an old man.)
You, Cassandre?
Cyrano
Come all of you—the Doctor, Isabelle,
Leandre—the whole company—a swarm
Of murmuring, golden bees—we'll parody
Italian farce and Tragedy-of-Blood;
Ribbons for banners, masks for blazonry,
And tambourines to be our rolling drums!
All the Women
(Jumping for joy.)
Bravo!—My hood— My cloak— Hurry!
Jodelet
(Mock heroic)
Lead on!—
Cyrano
(To the violins)
You violins—play us an overture—
(The violins join the procession which is forming. The lighted candles are snatched from the stage and distributed; it becomes a torchlight procession.)
Bravo!—Officers— Ladies in costume—
And twenty paces in advance ...
(He takes his station as he speaks.)
Myself,
Alone, with glory fluttering over me,
Alone as Lucifer at war with heaven!
Remember—no one lifts a hand to help—
Ready there? One ... two ... three! Porter, the doors! ...
(The Porter flings wide the great doors. We see in the dim moonlight a comer of old Paris, purple and picturesque.)
Look—Paris dreams—nocturnal, nebulous,
Under blue moonbeams hung from wall to wall—
Nature's own setting for the scene we play!—
Yonder, behind her veil of mist, the Seine,
Like a mysterious and magic mirror
Trembles—
And you shall see what you shall see!
All
To the Porte de Nesle!
Cyrano
(Erect upon the threshold)
To the Porte de Nesle!
(He turns back for a moment to the Soubrette)
Did you not ask, my dear, why against one
Singer they send a hundred swords?
(Quietly, drawing his own sword)
Because
They know this one man for a friend of mine!
(He goes out. The procession follows: Lignière zigzagging at its head, then the Comediennes on the arms of the Officers, then the Comedians, leaping and dancing as they go. It vanishes into the night to the music of the violins, illuminated by the flickering glimmer of the candles.)
(Curtain)